Chapter 341
Chapter 341:
As Robert staggered, reeling as though struck by an invisible force, he gripped the armrest of the sofa for support.
His mind replayed Ector’s words—a stinging critique.
Wasn’t he a competent father, perhaps even the best?
His earlier anger was born from his profound concern for the family, wasn’t it? Yet here they were, his own son and daughter, failing to see the depth of his intentions.
Ector gently clasped Fernanda’s wrist and ushered her upstairs to the bedroom. “Fernanda, don’t let this get to you,” he murmured, his tone soft and comforting. “Ignore Dad. You’ve got me by your side.”
With a calm, steady smile, he met her gaze. “Trust me. I wouldn’t ever let the Hudson family pick on you.”
Fernanda pressed her lips tightly together, her heart filling with a tumult of emotions.
“I know,” she whispered, her voice thick. She looked up at Ector with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Ector. I’ve always known you’d protect me.”
He was her steadfast protector, the sole member of the Morgan family who enveloped her in the warmth of kinship, always there to support her without condition.
Truly, he embodied everything one could hope for in a brother.
Ector offered her a tender smile and affectionately tousled her hair.
As he turned to leave, Fernanda’s hand shot out to stop him. “You took quite a hit from that belt earlier. Let me tend to it,” she offered.
“It’s really nothing. I’ll stop by a clinic later for some ointment.” Ector dismissed it with a wave, attempting to downplay his discomfort.
He reassured her again, his double affirmation meant to ease her worries.
But Fernanda, gripping his arm firmly, wouldn’t be swayed. She knew too well the harsh sting of such wounds and recognized the severity of the lash from its sound alone.
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With a gentle but firm tug, she led Ector back into the room.
Although she seldom stayed there, her room was always immaculate, a testament to someone’s diligent upkeep.
“Ector, lie down. I’ll fetch the medicine,” Fernanda said firmly, her tone laced with care.
Ector had visited this room several times before. It was always neat and orderly, yet it lacked any personal touch, feeling emotionally barren.
Even with Fernanda present, the atmosphere remained uninviting. The wardrobe stood empty, the bookshelves were bare, and the vanity was devoid of the typical array of skincare and makeup one might expect. It was more like a cold, lifeless hotel room than a cozy, welcoming home.
Ector exhaled quietly, struggling to put his discomfort into words.
He reclined on the sofa.
Fernanda returned promptly, bearing anti-inflammatory cream and cotton swabs.
Ector removed his shirt, unveiling a severe lash mark that ran diagonally from his right shoulder across to his left waist, covering much of his back.
.
.
.